The Ghost of the North
by Deus Swiftblade
Summary: In the North, there is a man to all who follow the old gods pay heed to. No one knows how long he has lived or from where he came. But he has always been there, even after the Iron Throne was forged. He is the Ghost of the North and by his silent hand, the future of Westeros is changed.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

The Ghost of the North

Chapter 1: Aegon I

"Talking"

"_Thinking"_

(Location: Winterfell)

The feast was coming along quite well inside the Great Hall of Winterfell. Everyone was feasting, laughing, drinking, and were a good time. Northmen sat side by side with men from the army of Aegon the Conqueror and no one had drawn a weapon or tried to attack someone else. And why would they? The War of Conquest was over and King Aegon Targaryen ruled over the Seven Kingdoms.

The king himself sat at the high table at the back of the Great Hall, looking down at all those who feasted. He was a tall man who was broad in the shoulders and his hair was kept short as the beard he wore on his face. The color of his hair was a silver-gold that he shared with his sisters-wives, Rhaenys and Visenya, along with his purple eyes. He caught the eyes of many women, but he was faithful to his sisters. "You have outdone yourself, Lord Stark." He said to the man who sat beside him. "This is quite the feast."

Torrhen Stark, the last King in the North, now Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, simply shook his head. "Not at all, your Grace." He replied. "This is only a modest feast." The head of House Stark had all the attributes of a Stark. He was lean and had a long face, with grey eyes and dark brown hair, which he kept short. "We could not, and would not, use all the food we have at our disposal, not even for you."

Aegon frowned slightly at those words. "I might take those words as an insult." He said quietly, seeing what the man would say now.

He bowed his head slightly. "Forgive, King Aegon. But Winter is Coming. And we must always be ready for it." He answered, his voice taking a solemn and quiet voice.

The first king of Westeros sat in silence, letting those words repeat themselves in his minds. They were strange, those words. Most of the houses he had known since his youth or conquered during the war had words that boasted about themselves, praised their achievements, or silently threaten their enemies. But the Starks, the Starks were the only house whose words only spoke of a warning, not from them, but from what came time and time again. "A good reason," He finally said. "I will not hold your words against you, Lord Torrhen."

"Thank you, your Grace. Besides, I had thought that you would and your company would enjoy a simple feast, rather than another ostentatious one." Torrhen said to him, a small smile on his face.

He laughed quietly at that. "That is very true." Once the war had been over and he was anointed by the High Septon in Oldtown, he visited each of the kingdoms he had conquered and feasted within their halls and castles. The North had been the last place he visited. Every Lord Paramount from the South, Loren Lannister, Harlen Tyrell, Ronnel Arryn and his mother Sharra, Edmyn Tully, Vickon Greyjoy, and Argella Durrandon (now Baratheon, as she was married to his brother, Orys) tried to outdo the last, hosting a more extravagant feast. But the feast before him, the one hosted by the Starks, was simplistic and modest. And he enjoyed it.

His eyes wandered over to where Visenya and Rhaenys were sitting. Between the two sat Torrhen's young son, Jon. He silently chuckled as he watched as his sisters talked to the child. Rhaenys found him to be adorable when she first saw him and Visenya, despite what others might think of her, always had a soft spot for children. "Your son seems to enjoy the attention he's getting from my sisters." He commented.

His Warden of the North looked in the same direction, smiling when he saw his son. "Yes. Jon's mother died when he was young. He's only had me and Bran." He looked over to where his bastard brother, Brandon Snow, was speaking to the Hand of the King, Orys Baratheon.

Aegon followed his gaze. "I could legitimize him, if you wish." He offered. It would make the North think highly of him, to legitimize their former king's bastard brother.

Torrhen shook his head again. "No, he would refuse."

He was bewildered by this. "Why would he do such thing?" He would've thought a bastard would've leapt for the chance to be legitimized. His first act as king was to legitimize Orys and allow him to take his mother's name.

"A Snow can go where a Stark can't." The Lord of Winterfell said in answer. "It was something he's told me again and again, ever since we were children. When I became the King in the North, he would always travel my kingdom and tell me what this lord was planning to do or who this lady was betrothed to. It may not have been honorable, but he helped me in ruling the North.

"_Hmm, perhaps I can make use of that."_ King Aegon thought to himself, looking at Brandon Snow. He had first met the man in the Riverlands, when he had been prepared to face the then King in the North on the battlefield. The man came with three maesters to, his surprise and the surprise of his army, negotiate the terms of surrender. The next day, King Torrhen Stark had bent the knee to him. "Why did you bend the knee?" He asked suddenly.

"Your Grace?" Torrhen asked. He was clearly confused and caught off-guard by the question.

"In the Riverlands, why did you bend the knee?" All of the kings he had defeated tried to fight him on the field or from their castles. But the King in the North did neither, he had bent the knee. He had been surprised by the action and he still wanted to know why it happened.

The Lord of Winterfell looked uncomfortable at this question. "Are you commanding me to answer, my king?" He asked.

"I will, if I must." He wanted to know why the North had just surrendered without even a fight.

Torrhen seemed to sag slightly in his seat as he sighed. "We had planned to fight come south to fight in battle. At Moat Cailin, Bran had suggested that he sneak into your camp and kill your dragons. My council and I toyed with the idea, since we all knew how quiet he could be."

"He would've failed in his goal." Aegon assured him. Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes would never have been caught off guard like that. They weren't humans, they were dragons.

"Then I shall be glad that he did not go through with. That night, I wrestled with the idea. I went to the godswood to seek guidance from the old gods. And in the godswood of Moat Cailin, he came to me."

"Who is this 'he'?" The king asked his lord.

"The Ghost of the North," He answered with reverence and awe. He sounded like he had stood in the presence of the gods (or something close to it).

"…and who is the Ghost of the North?" Aegon asked. This was the first he had ever heard of this person.

"No one truly knows. Some say that he was the first of the First Men. Others say that he was the father of Bran the Builder while others say he had only raised Bran the Builder. But what everyone agrees on is that he speaks for the old gods and is the last connection to the children of the forest we have." He explained. "He met me in the godswood and told me that Bran's plan to kill your dragons was possible, but it would come at a cost."

He closed his eyes momentarily and then opened them again. "He told me that if the dragons were killed, the army of Aegon Targaryen would fall back and the North would remain independent. But the armies would come again and again. They would constantly harass the North, until it would either submit or be destroyed. But either way, many people would lose their lives."

Aegon just stared at his Warden of the North. He could see that happen. If the dragons had been killed, they would've fallen back. But they would've come again to take the North, with or without dragons. How could he claim to be the ruler of Westeros when two of its kingdoms would not serve him? "And was that the reason you bent the knee?" He asked.

"No. He told me that if I didn't kill the dragons and I bent the knee, I would lose my crown. But the North would be safe. He left me there, with those two choices, and a question. Which was more important: my crown or my people?" Torrhen finished.

"And so, you choose your people." The new king of Westeros said in reply. What the Lord of Winterfell said next was in another tongue, a harsh, guttural language. "…What is that language and what did you just say?"

"It is the Old Tongue." He answered. "And what I had just said essentially translates to 'the king and the land are one.' It was one of the commandments hand down to the First Men from the children of the forest. It is true that not many kings had seen it as such, but the Starks have always held true to it. And the Ghost reminded me of it that night."

"I see." He stared out at the feast, seeing all the men from different lands feast with one another. "I would like to meet this Ghost. Can you send for him?"

Torrhen looked like he had just said something that was unbelievable. "F-forgive me, my king, but do you jape?" He asked, fear and worry filling his voice.

"I do not. I would see this Ghost of the North before I leave." It was a simple request, one he was sure the Lord of Winterfell could fulfil.

"King Aegon, no one sends for the Ghost. He sends for them. And it is always wise to obey his command." The head of House Stark told him.

If he didn't see the serious look on his face, the king of Westeros would've thought he was the one who was japing. But Torrhen wasn't. His long face and grey eyes spoke of his seriousness. But before he could say anything in response, the howl of a wolf echoed throughout the Great Hall. It was a chilling sound, one that seemed to go straight his bones. As he listened, he realized that he had unconsciously reached for Blackfyre. He saw that Visenya had reached for Dark Sister as well. The howl of the wolf faded away, but the feast did not continue. Instead, every Northmen looked to the doors. "What is…?" He began to ask, only to stop when the doors opened, the sound resounding throughout the Great Hall.

What entered was not a man, as he had been expecting, nor a woman. It wasn't even human. What entered the Great Hall of Winterfell was a direwolf. Its fur was as white as the snow of winter and its eyes were as red as blood, marking him as an albino. But underneath its white fur, Aegon could see the muscles it had and knew that they contained strength. As he watched the creature, he could think of one thing to describe it. _"Magnificent."_ He and his sisters might ride dragons, who rule the sky. But even he would admit that the direwolf before him was a lord of the wilds.

The direwolf padded towards the high table, ignoring all the gazes upon it. No one dared to say a word, they just watched in silence. When it finally stopped, it looked at Torrhen, staring at him intently. Then it looked at Aegon, Rhaenys, Visenya, and Orys, its eyes staring at them for a long moment. Then it turned and left. No one had said a word during the entire thing. Torrhen stood up from where he sat. "King Argon, please follow me." He said to his king as he walked around the table to stand before it.

"Should I come?" Brandon Snow asked his brother, standing up from his seat as well. All eyes in the Great Hall were now on the high table.

He shook his head. "You know he doesn't want to see you, Bran." He replied quietly. "Could you please take Jon to bed?"

His bastard brother nodded once in acknowledgement. He walked over to where Jon was sitting. "Come on, pup, time for sleep." He declared, taking the child up into his arms. Together, the two of them left the Great Hall. Jon was already dozing off on his shoulder.

Torrhen watched them go in silence. Then he realized that his new king was still sitting in his chair. "Please, your Grace, we must go. But before we do, I must ask that you leave your crown and Blackfyre behind." He looked over at Orys and Visenya. "I must also ask that you do the same with the badge of your rank, Lord Orys, and Dark Sister with you, Queen Visenya."

"What makes you think that we will do such things?" Visenya asked him, quiet fury filling her voice. The only time Dark Sister was not by her side was when she was asleep, and even then it was close by.

He held her gaze. "When you meet, he will not meet the wielder of Dark Sister, my queen. You must meet him as Visenya, no one else." He looked to her husband and brother. "And you must do the same, your Grace. You must not meet him as Aegon, king of Westeros, or as Aegon, wielder of Blackfyre. You must meet him as just Aegon."

"Who is this person you speak of?" His king asked of him.

He looked at the man who conquered most of Westeros. "The Ghost of the North has commanded you to come to him, where the gods can see." His voice echoed throughout the Great Hall. "Please, we must follow." He turned and began to walk down the length of the Great Hall.

Aegon looked to his brother and his sisters. _"They are waiting for me to make the decision."_ He realized in silence. He reached up and took his crown, a simple circlet of Valyrian steel with big rubies that had been cut into squares, off of his head, placing it on the table. Blackfyre lay against his chair and he left it there as he followed his Warden of the North. Behind him, he could the others getting up from their chairs and following him. They left the Great Hall, walking through Winterfell in the dead of night.

When they entered the godswood, he felt…something wash over him. In the dark of the night, the godswood looked foreboding, shadows leaping and dancing in the dark as they passed. Soon, they came upon the weirwood tree, its blood-red leaves hanging over the trunk that was the color of bone. In front of the tree was a pool that looked like it was the entryway to a bottomless pit. The face on the tree was one of melancholy, its eyes red with dried sap. And sitting beneath the face, was someone.

When he first heard about the Ghost of the North, Aegon did not know what would be the kind of person the Ghost would be. An image of a strong Northman came to mind. So did the image of a wise maester, learned and knowledgeable. But instead, he saw a cloaked man who was covered in dirt. "So you've brought them then, Torrhen?" The cloaked man said. His voice was a rusty growl. He was missing a few teeth and they could barely see his eyes under his hood.

"Yes, I have." Torrhen answered him, quiet and respectful.

He looked over at Aegon. "Well, are you just going to stand there?" He asked the king of Westeros. "Get your ass over here!" He pointed to a spot in front of him.

Aegon and his family were taken aback by his crude way of talking. "Watch your tongue, cur!" Visenya barked at him. "You speak to your king!" She had unconsciously reached for Dark Sister, only to stop when she remembered that she wasn't carrying it.

The Ghost turned his gaze onto her. "Only the very arrogant have dared to call them my king, usually forgetting that I've been around long before they were pushed out of their screaming mothers. And they usually remember quickly enough." His gaze turned to her husband and brother. "Are you such a king, Aegon, son of Aerion, King of the Seven Kingdoms?" Before the king could even speak, he continued. "Oh, wait. It's not the Seven Kingdoms. You have not conquered Dorne."

Aegon did not need to look to see the furious scowl that appeared on his sister's face. Dorne was a something of a foul memory to Rhaenys. "We are not here to discuss the outcomes of the war." He said, intervening before Rhaenys did something they would later regret. "We are here because you commanded us to come. Why?"

The cloaked man stared at him with those hidden eyes. "I wanted to see the man who would now rule the North and ask him a question: why did you conquer Westeros?"

He already knew the answer. "I saw something in Westeros. I saw the possibility of it becoming great in the world. And yet, that possibility was marred by the constant fighting between the Seven Kingdoms. Westeros needed a strong leader to bind it together. They needed someone who could unite them. And I am that someone."

Instead of being impressed by what he said (as he had expected), the Ghost of the North just laughed. When he laughed, the rust in his voice seemed to sharpen. When he was done laughing, he spat a glob out of his mouth. "Pretty little speech, did you tell it to the High Septon in Oldtown?" He asked, surprising Aegon. "But we both know that's not why the war happened. Now, tell me. Why did you conquer Westeros?"

The king of Westeros could feel those hidden eyes staring into his soul, waiting for the right answer. And he knew that what he had just said was not the right answer. It may have been the answer the High Septon accepted, as well as the lords and kings he had conquered. But it was not the true reason he had conquered Westeros. And the cloaked, dirty man wanted his actual answer. "Because I could," He said, admitting to the truth. "But there was another reason as well. What I told the High Septon was the truth as well."

"You wished to rid Westeros of the game of thrones, is that it?" The Ghost laughed again. "You're a fool if you think it would've been that easy."

"And why would he be foolish for such a noble goal?" Orys challenged him. He was never one to let his brother suffer insults.

"Noble, but also stupid, very stupid," He replied, reaching out with one hand and grabbing a small handful of rocks. "Before you and your dragons had come, the game was like this." He tossed the rocks into the pool. The ripples where the rocks landed crashed against one another, traveling outward and always trying to overwhelm the other. "Now, it is like this." Before their very eyes, he seemed to wrench a piece of the earth out and throw it into the pool. The splash it made was big and the ripples it created overrode the others, claiming all of the pool as its own. "The game isn't gone. You've just changed the rules." He told Aegon. "Once, there were many thrones. Now, there's only one and everyone who has ambition will want to sit their ass on it."

"So be it." The king of Westeros replied firmly. "If that has happened, then I will not try to make it any different. The game has changed, very well. The choices have been made, there's nothing we can do about them anymore. I will live with them for the rest of my life." That was an oath he intended to take seriously.

And while Torrhen and his brother and sisters looked at him with respect, the Ghost didn't seem to be impressed. "Bold words, but do you plan to back them? Or will you let them fall to the ground when they no longer suit you?" He asked.

Aegon frowned when he heard those words. "A king who sits easy with the choices he's made, both good and bad, is not a real king or even a good king." He declared to the Ghost. "A king should never sit easy. A good king acknowledges the mistakes he will make and with live with the consequences."

The Ghost of the North said nothing in response, at first. He rose from where he had been sitting and looked the king of Westeros in the eyes. "Kneel." He ordered the man.

While his family was confused by what the cloaked man said, the head of House Targaryen could see that his Warden of the North knew what was going to happen. And he knew as well. "I have already been anointed by the High Septon in the light of the Seven." He told the Ghost.

The man spat off to the side, like what he had just heard had filled his mouth with something vile. "You knelt before foreign gods who had their followers invade this land and destroy the weirwoods, kill the children, end the Pact. But while the South might now beholden to these gods, they are not the only gods in the land. Now, you will kneel before the true gods of Westeros and accept the oaths every King in the North has accepted long before your family came here. Kneel." He repeated his order.

Aegon did as he was ordered and bent the knee to the Ghost of the North. He felt the hands of the cloaked man grabbed hold of his head. It was a firm, but gentle grip, like how a mother would their child. "You wish to become the king of this land?" The Ghost asked him.

"Yes, that is my wish." He answered.

"Do you swear to rule this land well?"

"Yes, I do swear."

"Do you swear to treat and judge all those who follow you fairly and justly?"

"Yes, I do swear."

"Do you swear to protect all those who will look to you to be their shield?" It seemed that as he spoke, the Ghost's voice went through a gradual transformation, becoming rich rather than rusty.

"Yes, I do swear."

"Do you swear to govern this land as you would govern yourself?"

"I do swear, for the king and the land are one." He didn't know why he added those last words. He just remembered his conversation with Torrhen and they seemed appropriate.

The wind blew through the godswood and the leaves on the weirwood tree rustled with the wind. "The gods have heard your oaths and accept them. Rise, Aegon of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andal and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm." As the king felt the hands leave his head and rose from his knees, the Ghost continued. "But although they have accepted your oaths, the gods also charge you with a task for you and your descendants."

"What's that?" Aegon asked. He briefly wondered if this was just another man who was using the gods to further his own goals.

The cloaked man reached out and plucked a nut from the weirwood tree. "You will take this seed back with you to the capital you are building." He said to the king of Westeros, holding the nut out in his palm. "You will plant it in your godswood. You and your descendants will care for it and nurture it. So long as you do, your dynasty will rule Westeros."

Aegon reached out and took the nut without any hesitation. "I accept the charge." He told the Ghost.

"Good. But also be warned, King Aegon." The cloaked man said, his eyes staring straight into the king's eyes, the richness in his voice going back to rust. "If you should ever break the oaths you've just sworn, just as the North has made you, it can unmake you just as quickly."

Before he, his sisters, or Orys could demand an explanation, they heard a familiar roar coming outside of Winterfell. It was one of the dragons, crying for all to hear. The four of them quickly ran out of the godswood and towards the Hunter's Gate, where they had landed the dragons and left them there. When they came upon them, they could see that the dragons were restless and angry at something. They looked like they were about to burn everything in their sight to the ground.

"Balerion, what is the matter with—?" Aegon began to demand, only to stop when he saw something that he never would've thought would happen. Balerion, who men had called the Black Dread, turn his head and _snarled_ at his rider. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Meraxes and Vhagar do the same to their own riders, his sisters and wives. The three of them took a step back, surprised by what their dragons had just done. Never before had they acted like that, not to them.

"This will be the consequence if you break your oaths, Aegon, son of Aerion, King of Westeros." The Ghost of the North said from behind them. The four of them turned to see him standing at the Hunter's Gate, Torrhen by his side. The former King in the North stayed where he was when the Ghost walked forward. The cloaked man's stride took past Aegon and his family and to the dragons. But the dragons themselves did not try to eat, burn, or kill him. Instead, they all stood before him with not a single tooth snarled at him. He looked at them for a long second and then waved his hand wide. With that gesture, the dragons took flight and went up into the air. "You and your family could've and did take Westeros with dragons." He said to the king, his queens, and his Hand. "I can and will take your dragons from you."

**End**

**Author's note:** Thank you for all the reviews you've sent me.

This story has been bouncing around my head ever since I read the books and the wiki. Finally, I just had to put it down in wording. Now, let me be clear, this will not be a part of the plan I already devised. This is more of a leisure project, so it will take more time to upload then the others stories.

Also, this story will not be consistent at first. I will be jumping through the years a bit with each chapter. However, those will get shorter when I get closer to the canon timeline.

Yes, I will be changing some things in the continuity. I've gone 300 years back, why wouldn't I change some things? However, some things will stay the same. I will be going with a few theories I've found on the wiki, so bear with me.

And before any of you can start wondering or even ask me, the Ghost of the North is not an OC. But I will not be telling you who he is. That will come at the end of the story.

I'll see you all next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

The Ghost of the North

Chapter 2: Aenys I

"Talking"

"_Thinking"_

(Location: Red Keep)

He coughed into his hand and when he pulled it away, he could see that there was blood on it. Reaching for a nearby cloth, he wiped the blood off and threw the cloth into the nearby fire. He watched with small satisfaction as it burned to ashes. The damned sickness had been tearing through him for the better part of four months and it was winning the fight. The Grand Maester had already told him. He was going to die.

But that wasn't the biggest problem he had right now. _"What should I do?"_ He often asked himself in silence. When he had become king, the Faith Militant had revolted, claiming that since he was born of incest, he was no true king. And as much as he hated to admit it, they were right. But they had the wrong reason.

Aenys wasn't a strong king, he knew that. Quite frankly, everyone knew that. Everyone would rather have his brother, Maegor, be king, even their father, Aegon the Conqueror. But he had been the firstborn, so he had become the heir to the Iron Throne. But when the Faith Militant revolted, he didn't know what to do. He had been indecisive and that had only made things worse. The one thing he had done right (as so many had told him) was to appoint Maegor to be his Hand and let him deal with the revolt.

A knock on the door drew his attention away from the fire. "Your pardon, your Grace, but Lord Snow is here." One of the Kingsguard outside his rooms said.

He stood up from the chair he was in, trembling slightly as he did. "Send him in." He called out. The door opened and Brandon Snow, his Master of Whispers, came in. "Lord Snow." He greeted the Northman. "You bring news?"

"I do, your Grace." Brandon replied. "Your brother, Lord Maegor, is riding in from the war. He has capture one of the leaders of the Warrior's Sons and is bringing him in for questioning. Also, my nephew seems to be riding with them."

Aenys, whose attention had wandered slightly when he heard his brother's name, refocused on him when he heard the second name. "Jon's riding in?" He asked.

"I do not believe I have any other nephew, my king." His Master of Whispers replied. "Not unless my brother got married without my knowing. And I doubt that would actually happen."

The king hadn't heard the rest of his words. "Thank you, Lord Snow. Please tell your nephew to attend me in the small council room." He commanded.

Brandon bowed his head. "As you wish, your Grace." With that said, the Northman walked out of the room. Aenys quickly pulled on a set of robes before heading out of the room himself. The Kingsguard who guarded his door filed in behind him. As he walked through the hallways, the builders and workers that filled the Red Keep went past him. His father, Aegon the Conqueror, had ordered the Red Keep to be built, yet it was still being constructed when he died. It was still being constructed, five years later. Thankfully, some of the rooms had been completed, enough for people to actually start living in them.

When he got to the small council room, he already saw that Jon was already waiting inside. "Your Grace." The heir to Winterfell said, turning to face the king and bowing his head.

Aenys waved the bow off, smiling at the Northman. "It's good to see you again, Jon." He said. The son of Torrhen Stark was something the king considered to be rare: an actual friend to both him and Maegor. When the two of them had been growing up, Jon had come down to King's Landing and became a surrogate older brother to the two of them.

"It's good to see you too, my king." Jon replied, still being formal.

The king of Westeros sat in his chair and seemed to sink slightly into it. "Jon, please, there's no one else here. My Kingsguard are outside. Can you please just speak to me like we're children again, not as a king and a lord?" He asked.

At that, the Northman smiled. "I'm not a lord, Aenys. My father is still the Warden of the North."

"Aye, I know." Before he could say anything else, the doors to the room opened again and Maegor walked in. The Hand of the King walked straight to the king himself, stopping just in front of his chair. The two brothers just stared at each other for the longest time, until the elder looked away. "Hello, Maegor." He said.

"You look like shit." Maegor told him bluntly.

He couldn't help but flinch at those words. "I know." It was the only thing he could think to say. Ever since they were children, he had been afraid of Maegor. And it didn't help the fact that they were completely different. While they might both be taller, his brother was the taller of them. Where he was slender, Maegor was bulky. Where he was soft, Maegor was hard. Where his hair was long, Maegor's was short. And where he was weak, Maegor was strong.

But Jon stepped in at that point and diffused the tension that was growing between the two. He was the only one who could do it by himself. "Maegor, I've forgotten to ask. How is your wife? Is the baby doing well?" He asked the Hand.

Maegor did something everyone who knew him considered to be rare, if not virtually nonexistent. He smiled. "She's to be due in the next month or so. I will be a father soon." If there was one thing that Maegor the Cruel shared with his mother, it was that they had a soft spot for children (even though they would never admit it publically).

"I'm glad to see you like this." Aenys told his brother. "I hope that I will have a nephew soon."

Maegor shook his head. "I won't have a son. I will have a daughter." He stated, making it sound like he was absolutely certain of it.

"Ah, so that was the choice he gave you, wasn't it?" Jon asked him, somehow knowing what he was talking about.

But the king was at a loss. He knew the story (everyone knew the story). Maegor kept marrying, but his wives could never produce a child for him, which had usually led to him beheading them. After his fifth wife had died like that, Jon had suggested that he should try to find a woman who was just as strong as he was. So the two of them went north of the Wall and when Maegor came back south, he had brought a wilding woman for a wife back with him. "Tell me about the man you've captured." He ordered his Hand.

Maegor gave him a hard look (or at least, what he thought was a hard look), making him look away. He did not turn his head. He just didn't hold his brother's gaze. "He's currently in the black cells. Give him a few days and he will tell us all we need to know." Maegor told him.

"Don't torture him too much." He tried to order his brother, which only got him a glare in return. His Hand left the room, slamming the door behind him. "Why do I keep trying to order him around?" The king asked himself.

"Because you are the king and he is your Hand." Jon said in answer.

"And yet, everyone at court wants him to be the king." He replied. He knew that they would gladly see him dead so his brother would sit his ass on the Iron Throne.

"You're a good king, Aenys." His friend from the North assured him.

"I'm a weak king, Jon." He said to him. "You and I both know that I would rather be enjoying the life at court rather than trying to make decisions for the kingdoms. Watching mummers do their acts, sponsoring a talented young singer or musician, or reading poetry." He enjoyed doing those things. A cough tore through him and he spat blood onto the table. He felt weak as the cough faded away.

The Northman just stared at him and the blood on the table. "How long have you been sick?" He asked the king.

Aenys didn't say anything at first. He just cleaned the blood from his mouth with another piece of cloth. "…A few weeks after Quicksilver had been killed." He finally said, taking the cloth away from him. Its former white color was now blood red, his blood. As he put the cloth down on the table, he thought back to when his dragon died. It was almost ironic. The one time he tried to show some backbone and follow Maegor into the battlefield, they ended up being ambushed. When he saw Quicksilver die, he went into shock and his brother had to carry him away (or so he had been told).

"Can't the Grand Maester do something to cure your sickness?" Jon asked. It was no secret that the Grand Maester on the small council could practically cure anything.

The king shook his head. "He was the one who confirmed it. I only have weeks, if not days, left to live. And when I die, Maegor is sure to take the throne from my son. I just hope he will be kind enough to let Jaehaerys live."

Before Jon could say anything, a crow flew in through the window and landed on the small council, in front of Aenys. The Targaryen king looked at the crow and saw that above its beak and centered perfectly between its two eyes was a scar. It was a particular scar. If he looked closely enough, it almost looked like a closed eye. But before he could look at it any further, it cawed at him, making him flinch away. It then pecked a spot on the table just in front of him before taking flight and leaving the room through the same window it came in from.

While he was mystified by what had just happened, Jon had become solemn and serious. "Aenys, go to the godswood." He told the king. "Go alone."

Aenys thought what his friend was odd. "Are you japing, Jon?" He asked his friend. "What are you—?"

"Go, Aenys! _Now_!" thundered the Northman, making him almost leap out of his chair. Never had he heard his friend speak like that to him. He had never heard him speak like that to anyone. He was always the calm one who was friendly to everyone he met. But now, looking at him, he looked like a true man of the North, stern and fierce.

Seeing his friend like that and being scared by it, the king rose from his chair and went for the door. He opened it and walked through into the hall. He heard the Kingsguard fall in behind him as he went through the halls. "I am going to the godswood." He told the Lord Commander. "Stand guard at the entrance. I wish to be alone in there."

"As you command, your Grace." The Lord Commander replied. They walked through the halls, both built and being built, in silence. When they reached the entrance to the godswood, the Kingsguard stopped. But the king kept walking.

He had always found comfort in the godswood of the Red Keep. It always seemed like a place where he wasn't a king when he was there. He knew the different types of trees he walked under, elm, alder, and black cottonwood to name a few. He felt comforted by these trees as he knew they would not judge him. As he walked a familiar path, he came up the only weirwood tree in the godswood. From what he had learned, this tree had come to King's Landing in the form of a seed taken from the great heart tree of Winterfell, carried by Aegon the Conqueror. His father had planted the seed and always tended to it. And since he had become king, it had been his duty to tend to it as well.

But as he approached the weirwood, he saw that someone was sitting beneath it. The person was cloaked and the hood was pulled up over his head. The cloak itself wasn't clean. It was covered in dirt and other things, giving the person an overall dirty appearance. "Are you lost, my good man?" Aenys asked the person (he assumed it was a man beneath the cloak).

The cloaked person looked up at the king. "I am where I want to be, boy." He said. His voice was a rusty growl.

"I am not a boy. I am a man and the king of Westeros!" The head of House Targaryen protested almost immediately, offended by what the man said.

The man just snorted and spat off to the side. "A king would never let such a problem engulf his kingdom. And a man would accept the consequences of the mistakes he's made. But instead of dealing with your problem, you force it on your brother. So, I will call you boy as many times as I like."

"Who are you to say such things to me!?" He demanded, his voice rising. But instead of becoming a roar like Maegor had, it became a squeak. It was not something he was proud of.

"The person who your father was smart enough to fear and respect," The cloaked man answered him. "Or did he not tell you what happened when he and his sisters feasted at Winterfell?"

Somehow, he ended sitting on the ground (he wasn't sure how and at that point, he didn't care), staring at the man in shock. His parents had, in fact, told him and his siblings what had happened at Winterfell that night. They described it as the most terrifying night in their lives, for their dragons had almost been taken from them. And it was all because of one person. "You're the Ghost of the North?" He asked. "What are you doing in the south?"

"You believe that since they say I am from the North, that I should stay in the North?" The Ghost asked him. He then looked at the weirwood tree he sat beneath. "I see you still haven't craved a face into the tree."

"Oh…were we supposed to do that?" Aenys asked him. He didn't know why, but those were the only words that could come out of his mouth at that time. "I thought that…well…"

"You thought that the children of the forest would come in the dead of night and carved the face for you." The Ghost said, cutting the king off before he could even say anything.

His face burned with embarrassment. That was exactly what he had been thinking. He wondered if the cloaked man before could read his mind. But before he could say anything else, he started coughing rather violently. Blood flew from his mouth, landing on the ground and the hem of the Ghost's cloak. "I…apologize…" Aenys said with a weak breath, on his knees. In that moment, he felt like truly was dying.

The Ghost of the North wasn't impressed by what he saw. "Stop being melodramatic and get up." He ordered the king of Westeros, who did as he was told. "So, you just plan to die quietly, is that it?" He asked the man struggling to sit up back up.

"What else can I do?" The head of House Targaryen asked back. "I'm a craven who was unfortunate to be the firstborn and heir to the Iron Throne. Now I'm dying from a sickness and the realm is in open revolt against the crown."

"Even a cornered and weakened animal will snarl to warn away those who would gladly prey on it." The cloaked man said cryptically to him. "And you, a craven? You're about as craven as your father was."

Those words were not ones he had expected to hear. In all of his life, no one had ever compared him to Aegon the Conqueror. "How can you compare me to my father?" He asked the Ghost. "He was strong. I'm not."

The Ghost snorted in derision and spat off to the side. "If strength was all your father had, he would've been a brute. And a brute, despite of how many dragons he might have, would never been able to successfully conquer most of Westeros." He looked at the king. "He had his strength, but he also had his mind and his creativity. If your brother got your father's strength, what do you think you got?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing," Aenys lamented. He had inherited nothing from his father.

"You got his mind and creativity, boy!" The Ghost snapped at the king, startling him and making him yelp in surprise. "The only reason you think you got nothing is because you've never used them. And now, you are willing to die before trying to use what your father gave you." Disgust was evident in his rust-filled voice as he spoke.

"How am I supposed to use them when it's possible for me to draw my last breath at any moment?" The king asked the cloaked man. He had been all but certain that last coughing fit could've killed him.

"Have you gone deaf as well? I had just told you that a weakened animal will snarl at those who would prey on it. The same thing goes for a dying animal as well."

"I hardly think I am an animal." He retorted. A small sneer appeared on his face as he said those words.

"Then why do you and your family keep saying that you are the blood of the dragon?" The Ghost of the North asked him. "Saying that you're of the blood would imply that you yourself are a dragon. And if you are the head of House Targaryen, then _you_ are the dragon."

"So you would just have me snarl at people before I finally die?" Aenys asked, unsure of what he was talking about.

"If your family stays on the throne, then the dragon never dies. Death is a change, nothing more. And if you snarl, what will your successor do?" He asked back.

The king would've said something, but an idea began to take root in his mind. As he thought it over, it began to appeal more and more to him. It was a perfect way to quell the Faith and it would put his worries to rest. And it all had to start with him. When he turned to ask the Ghost if what he said was true, he saw that the man had vanished, like a ghost.

* * *

Two days later, Aenys sat on the Iron Throne with the entire court there. While he tried to look dignified outwardly, inwardly he was brimming with nervousness. His idea and plan hinged on how what would happen this day. He would've prayed to the gods for strength, but the Faith of the Seven would not let his prayer pass and he felt that the old gods would not answer. He would do this alone. "Being in the prisoner," He called out for all to hear.

The doors to the Great Hall opened. Maegor and Jon walked in with a guard detail behind them. Between the two was the prisoner. If he had to guess, he would say the prisoner hailed from the Reach. He wore no armor and his hands were chained together. But he held his head high and proud. When he looked upon the king, his proud face turned into one of disgust. Aenys could see that the Warrior's Son hated him and felt a little relieved. That would make things easier for him.

"You stand before Aenys, the First of His Name—" The court herald began to say, only to have the prisoner interrupt him.

"I stand before a product of incest and a weakling!" He shouted for all those to hear. No one said a word in response, allowing the man to continue. "If any of you noble lords and ladies are pious and follow the Seven, you would overpower these men who hold me captive and take that man off of that throne!"

No one said a word in response. Instead, all eyes turned to the man sitting on the throne. He sat there, staring at the supposed righteous knight. "We find your lack of etiquette mildly insult, ser." He said to the prisoner. "Did your lady mother forget to teach you how to bend the knee to your king?"

The knight spat at the throne, the sound echoing in the Great Hall. "I do not and will bend the knee to bastard born of incest. Kill me already, 'your Grace'." He commanded, making those last two words sound like they were absolutely foul to say. "I will join the gods and they will reward me for my righteousness."

Everyone's eyes were riveted to the king, waiting to see what he would do. Normally, this would be where he would falter and his brother, the Hand, would take command. But instead, they saw him rise from the Iron Throne. "If that is your wish, we will grant it." He looked to the rest of his court. "We will go to the godswood." Everyone, with the exception of Jon, had not expected that. But when the king commanded, they obeyed.

The left the Great Hall and made their way to the godswood, looking like a small migration was happening in the Red Keep. When they arrived at the godswood, Aenys did not stop. He walked into the godswood and the rest followed. Finally, the king stopped before the weirwood tree and the entire court did the same.

"What is this?" The prisoner demanded as he saw the block sitting beneath the weirwood tree.

"You wished to be sent to the gods, ser." Aenys told him. "We are simply granting you your wish. Jon, if you would?" The Northman forced the knight to his knees and placed his head on the block. The knight began to squirm, trying to break free. The king knew that this wasn't what he had been expecting. Mostly, he had been expecting to die by hanging or locked away forever, but not this. _"Now comes the hard part."_ Aenys thought to himself, turning to his brother. "Maegor, give me Blackfyre." He commanded.

Had that been any other time, he would've laughed at the surprised look on his brother's face. But he didn't. Instead, he held out his hand, waiting to be given the family sword. The surprise on Maegor's face disappeared as he unbuckled Blackfyre, sheath and all, from his side and held it hilt-first to his older brother. Aenys drew the sword his father wielded when he conquered Westeros and placed the tip of its blade in the ground. _"Gods, it's heavy."_ He thought to himself. When he briefly held aloft, his arms began to scream in protest. He knew that they would scream again, but it had to be done. "I, Aenys, the First of my Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, and Protector of the Realm, accuse you of treason against the crown and sentence you to die." He told the Warrior's Son. He raised Blackfyre up, his arms screaming their protests again. But when he swung down, they stopped.

Every member of the court watched in stunned silence as their king beheaded a leader of the Warrior's Sons. They had never seen him do anything like this before. They could only as the blood from the dead knight's neck fly up into an arc and splatter against the weirwood tree. As the head rolled away on the ground, the king took Blackfyre and gave it back to his brother. Neither of them said a word as it happened. When the king left the godswood, his brother on his left and their friend on his right, everyone else followed, leaving the body to be cleaned up later.

* * *

As the sun began to set in the sky, Aenys was abed. What he had done that day drained him, drained him more than he would've thought. Before he had even gotten back to the Great Hall, a coughing fit tore through him. Blood was spat onto the ground and he had fallen to the ground. The last thing he remembered before fainting was his brother grabbing hold of him with a, surprisingly, gentle grasp.

The door to his room was opened by Maegor, who was followed by Jaehaerys, who was barely an adult. The king was not surprised by this visit. He had been the one to send for the both of them. "Come and sit." He told them. "We have much to discuss."

"What is there to discuss, father?" His son asked as he and his uncle sat down by the bed.

"The future," He answered simply enough. He turned his head to look at his brother. "Maegor, would you ever harm Jaehaerys after I die?"

"How could you even think of such a thing?" Maegor demanded, looking at his king with fury in his eyes. "He is my nephew."

Aenys smiled weakly at that. "Forgive me, brother. But I had to be sure." He looked at the both of them. "My son, when I die, your uncle will become the next king." He could see that both of them were surprised by those words. "You are much like me, Jaehaerys. You are a peaceful man, but not a warrior. Right now, the crown needs to be worn by a warrior." He explained. "Maegor, when you take the throne, I want you to bend the Faith Militant to their lowest. But do not break, only bend." He ordered his brother.

"Why?" Maegor asked him.

"When it comes for you to pass the crown to Jaehaerys, he will be the one to end the revolt. But he will end it peacefully. You must do this." He urged them. "It is the only way to crush the Faith Militant and ensure our family continues to rule Westeros."

His son wasn't sure of what he said, but he could see that his brother did. "Alright, Aenys," Maegor said to him. "If that's what you want to happen, it will happen." He smiled slightly. "I guess you got something from our father after all. You're not as weak as everyone believed." Those words of praise made the king feel proud. He had never heard them come from his brother.

**End**

**Author's note:** Thank you for all the reviews you've sent me.

From what I've read on the wiki, Aenys was a sickly person until he bonded with his dragon. So, it would stand to reason that once his dragon was killed, he would get sick again.

We only know about Maegor the Cruel in the past tense and that usually isn't kind to people. He might've earned his nickname, but that wasn't all there was to him. Besides, they never exactly say when he put down his laws or the bounties.

I could be wrong here, but I don't think the early Targaryen kings would use "Lord of the Seven Kingdoms" as a part of their titles. And for a simple reason: Dorne was still independent. So, I'm guessing they just skipped that part.

I'll see you all next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

The Ghost of the North

Chapter 3: Aegon the Younger

"Talking"

"_Thinking"_

(Location: Dragonstone)

Something was happening with his family, he just knew it. But he didn't know what exactly. Maybe it had to do with his grandfather's death. The king, Viserys, had died more than a month ago. But things had not been stable. His mother, Rhaenyra, had expected to succeed the king as ruler of Westeros. But then the king's second wife had given him sons, who the eldest was also named Aegon.

So the question everyone in the kingdoms (including him) was who ascended the throne, his mother or his uncle? His mother had been the king's favorite. But his uncle was the eldest son of King Viserys. Even though he and his younger brother weren't allowed to leave the castle, they could see people were beginning to take sides.

"Prince Aegon." One of the servants called out to him, getting his attention. He had been standing off to the side in the training yard, watching the squires and knights train. He turned his attention to the servant, who bowed to him. "The queen has asked you to come to the chamber of the Painted Table, your Highness."

"Queen Alicent is here?" He asked, just to be sure.

"No, my Prince," The servant replied. "Your mother has summoned you."

"_And you serve her faithfully."_ He silently remarked. It was bad enough that his family was taking sides, but the rest of the kingdoms seemed to be doing the same thing as well. At least, that was what it seemed like to him. "Very well, I will heed my mother's command."

As he followed the servant back into the castle, he could see the maids, the other servants, and even the courtiers were looking at him and whispering between themselves as he passed. He said nothing in reply. How could he? It had been a month ago and yet, people were still talking about it.

It had only been a few days after the king had died. All the dragons in Westeros, both wild and ridden, had suddenly taken flight and flew northward. They even carried dragon eggs in their claws as they left caves on Dragonstone. He had even heard a few people say that the dragons in King's Landing had done the same. The riders of the dragons had tried to stop them, only to be warned off with hisses and growls. He wouldn't know that personally, as his own dragon, Stormcloud, had flown away while he was having his lessons. And while no one said it out loud, they all knew it was because of this event that the realm had gone to war with itself.

"Have my brothers and father returned?" He asked the servant. His elder brothers, Jace, Luke, and Joff, along with his father, Daemon, had traveled to the North to find the dragons. They had left mere days after the dragons did and there had been no word since.

"I do not know, my prince." The servant told him as they walked through the corridors of the castle. He did not ask anything in reply. He may have only been nine, but he wasn't stupid.

When they got to the chamber of the Painted Table, the servant stayed outside and he went in. "Mother, I am here." He called out, instantly going to his mother's side. She was sitting in the raised chair that stood over Dragonstone on the map. To him, she almost looked like his namesake come again.

She turned to look at him and smiled. "Come here, my sweetling." She told him. He did as he was told. She took him up and sat him on her lap (which he thought he was getting too old for. He was nine, after all).

"What's going on, Mother?" He asked her, looking up at her. But before his mother could answer his question, someone else at the table did.

"What's going on, little prince, is that your dumb bitch of a mother and your idiot fool of an uncle didn't want to do what they were told to do and are now wondering how things had turned like this." The old woman who sat at where the North was on the table (or to be more specific, where the Wall was) told him.

His mother whipped her head over to where the old woman sat. "Don't use that language in front of my son!" She hissed.

The old woman laughed with a cackle. "You've heard me say worse, lass. This is me being polite." She told his mother. "Besides, you and your brother can only lay the accusation at each other's feet. It's the same as accusing yourself."

"I thought you had sworn to defend my claim, Grandmother. Have you turned your cloak against me?" As his mother spoke, Aegon looked at his great-grandmother. She was the only child of King Maegor the Cruel, whose mother had been a wilding from beyond the Wall (according to the stories he had heard, when Maegor had returned with the woman he had brought, he had two black eyes and a broken arm). She had married the Old King's second son, Baelon, and thus was the mother of King Viserys (although, she had often said that she had "stolen" her husband, whatever that meant). She was an ancient-looking woman with hair the color of iron and hard eyes. Her harsh words and short temper had the servants, maids, and courtiers calling her the Wild Dragon, a fact she seemed to be proud of.

"I've made no oath, girl. I knew what my son had written down and I had expected my grandchildren to do as expected of them. Instead, you behaved like children and threw tantrums. And now, you sit there wondering why you've been warned and punished." The Wild Dragon said.

"The Iron Throne is mine!" Aegon's mother shouted, filling the chamber with her voice and making her son wince and cover his ears. "My father was grooming me to be his heir!"

"Your Grace, your son!" Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, told his mother urgently.

She looked down at him and when she saw his pained faced and covered ears, the angry emotions on her face disappeared. "I'm sorry, sweetling." She told him gently.

"Mother, what is going on?" He asked, greatly confused by the words being thrown around. Something was going and he didn't know it was.

His mother looked conflicted, unsure of what to say. "He has to know, Rhaenyra. He deserves to know what is going on before he leaves." Rhaenys, the wife of Lord Corlys, told his mother.

Those last three words confused Aegon, but seemed to enrage his mother. "He's not going anywhere!" She declared, hugging him fiercely. He felt it harder to breathe when she did that, but he wasn't choking by any means. "I will not allow him to go to those murderers!"

"You'll do as instructed, girl!" The Wild Dragon barked out at her. "Or would you like lose more of your family because of your stupidity?"

"What is going on?" Aegon demanded, his voice (which still sounded childish) ringing through the room. They all looked at the angry, annoyed, and confused expression on his face. He didn't know what they were talking about and he wanted to know.

Everyone in the room fell silent. But that only made him even more confused. Finally, his mother was the one who spoke. "Sweetling, your father and brothers…they aren't coming home." She told him.

He knew what she was trying to say, even though she wasn't trying to say it out right. "Father, Jace, Luke, and Joff are dead?" He couldn't help but ask her. It was involuntarily. His mother could only nod in answer, as tears had already formed in her eyes. "Why?"

"That's a good question, little dragon." The Wild Dragon told him. "But if you want to know the real answer, we'll have to start at the beginning of this entire mess."

"What do you mean, Grandmother?" He asked her. Even though she was his great-grandmother, he found it easier to not use the "great" part.

"I'm talking about the idiocy my two grandchildren have managed to get the kingdoms into." Her voice was harsh and unyielding, showing what she thought about his mother and uncle.

'Grandmother, please." His mother said with a voice that sounded strained, whether with frustration or disappointment, he didn't know.

"Hush, I'm telling the boy what's going on. You just keep your mouth shut." His mother looked shocked at those words, but still said nothing. "Now then, boy, do you know what's been happening?"

"People have been taking sides over whether my mother or uncle should take the Iron Throne." He promptly answered, earning surprised looks from the other three people in the room (he wasn't stupid, he knew how to listen).

"Aye, that much is true." The old woman cast a glance at her granddaughter. "Since my son's first wife only her daughter survive, he had begun to groom her to be his heir. Then he remarried and his second wife gave me grandsons. Can you tell me what happened next?" She asked him.

"He died without making it clear who would be the one to succeed him?" He offered.

"You would be wrong there, little dragon. He did make it clear. He knew that he had favored his daughter and yet, the laws were clear: his eldest son was supposed to succeed him. So he went to godswood and asked for guidance. And he was given guidance. He took what had been said to him and wrote it down in his will."

"Who gave him guidance?" He asked. He had thought his grandfather to be wise person (how else would he have kept the peace the Conciliator had given the kingdoms), so he was baffled to hear that he had looked for guidance.

The Wild Dragon smiled. "The Ghost of the North gave him guidance." Aegon's eyes widened when he heard that. He knew about the Ghost of the North. While most families in the South would've written the Ghost off as a fantasy, those who followed the old gods knew him to be real. The same went for House Targaryen. The family knew of the times the Ghost had come to them.

The first was when Aegon the Conqueror had feasted at Winterfell. The Ghost had made him swear the oaths every King in the North had sworn and then charged him to take a nut from the weirwood tree to King's Landing. The second was when he suggested to Maegor the Cruel that he should travel beyond the Wall to look for a wife (who, in turn, gave birth to the Wild Dragon herself). The third time was during the last days of King Aenys. According to the story, it was his visit that put some iron into the king's spine and made him do the execution he was now remembered for.

"The Ghost of the North really gave guidance to Grandfather?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Of course he did. Now, are you going to keep interrupting me, or can I continue?" She asked back with a pointed look on her face.

He looked down, embarrassed to have interrupted his elder. "Sorry." He mumbled.

"Good. Now, your grandfather's will had been copied and delivered to both his daughter and his firstborn son. As it turned, he did not favor either one of them. Instead, his will declared that, upon his death, his firstborn son and daughter would marry and rule Westeros together."

He looked at her when he heard those words. "Isn't that good?" He asked. If that was what the king had written in his will, then the kingdoms would be at peace. But the kingdoms weren't at peace.

"It would be, if your mother and your uncle hadn't decided to behave like a pair of children who threw a tantrum when they didn't get their way." She then eyed the Sea Snake and his wife. "It also didn't help that the two of them had a council of morons who urged them on."

"You go too far!" Lord Corlys shouted, standing up from where he had been sitting.

"I'm not the one who's managed to get our house and the kingdoms into this mess. So sit down!" She ordered him, her voice and her temper rising. The Sea Snake looked like he wanted to continue, but he sat down anyway. "In any case, little dragon, your mother and your uncle would've dragged the kingdoms into war, had the Ghost not intervened." She told Aegon.

"The Ghost intervened?" He repeated himself. "How did he do that?"

The Wild Dragon laughed at those words. "You already know how, little prince. Or have you forgotten what happened when all the dragons took flight?"

He was stunned by what she said. "You mean he did that?"

"He told Aegon the Conqueror that he could and would take the dragons from our family." She replied. "Personally, I don't see what the big fuss was about." Aegon was surprised by what she had said. She was a Targaryen herself and she dismissed the dragons leaving as something that wasn't important!? Then he remembered that she had never bothered to bond with a dragon in her life, despite members of the house urging her to do so. "In any case, soon after the dragons flew away, my family decided to do something even more stupid."

"How can you speak of your son and grandchildren like that?" Rhaenyra demanded of the old woman, her heart in her voice.

"Easily, very easily," The Wild Dragon replied, her voice like iron when she spoke. "And don't ever forget that you're not the only one who lost people, girl. Aemond, Daeron, and Helaena are dead as well."

Aegon gasped when he heard that news. He may not have met his aunt and uncles, but they had been family. "What happened to them all?" He asked. He wanted to know how his father, brothers, uncles, and aunt died.

"They had the idiotic notion to sneak into the North and bring the dragons back themselves. And the dragons burned them alive for trying such a foolish thing." She said like it was nothing important and yet, he was horrified by it. He couldn't imagine being killed by a dragon. "Until recently, we had no idea of what happened to them, until we received a raven, that is."

"A raven?" repeated Aegon the Younger.

"Yes, a raven. Are you going to repeat everything I say to you like a fool, child?" The old woman asked him with a frown upon her face.

He flushed, embarrassed for being chastised like that. "Well, who sent the raven?" He asked.

"Whoever it who was writing for Cregan Stark," Lord Corlys answered him. "The message the raven carried told us about what happened to your father and brothers as well as saying that a similar message was given to your uncle. It also said that the will of King Viserys was still in effect, with one addendum." His face became grave. "It wrote that the Ghost of the North has declared that you, Prince Aegon, will be fostered at Winterfell."

"He will not go!" His mother declared, the chamber filling with her voice once more. "My son will not go to those butchers! That message is nothing but lies! The dragons didn't kill my husband and sons, those fucking wolves did!"

"If you want our house to be burned to the ground, keep talking, you fool woman!" The Wild Dragon barked at her. "It's no longer in your hands. Your son is going to Winterfell, even if I have to take him from your hands!"

The chamber would've erupted into yelling, had the prince himself not spoken. "Mother, if it keeps the kingdoms peaceful, marry him." He told his mother, his voice quiet. "Please marry my uncle."

She looked down at him and he looked up at her from where he sat on her lap. The chamber was silent as mother and son stared at one another. Finally, it was the mother who broke the stare. "Alright, my sweetling, I will marry your uncle." She conceded. "But you will be the one who succeeds us when we die."

"Your Grace, it is customary for the king and queen to sire children." Lord Corlys told her.

"He won't get any from me." She snapped at him. "After what happened with Visenya, I cannot carry any more children." When he heard those words, Aegon wasn't sure if his mother was lying or not. But that soon faded away from his mind when he realized what was going to happen to him.

"_I'm leaving home."_ He thought to himself. He had never left the Crownlands before and now, he was going to be fostered at Winterfell, in the North. One part of him was scared by the idea of leaving his family, especially his mother and brother. But another part of him began to feel excited about it.

**End**

**Author's note:** Thank you for all the reviews you've sent me.

Okay, in essence, Dance of the Dragons does not happen. You really can't do that particular dance without the dragons. There are probably going to be a few of you who will disagree with this particular course of action, but that's what the Ghost is for, people. He's there to try and make sure excessive levels of stupidity don't come to pass.

Did you think I was going to leave Maegor's daughter just like that? It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. And since she was half-wilding herself, her mother raised to think and behave as such. So, she spoke her mind and never bothered to bond with a dragon. Odds are she learned how to fight as well.

The Ghost is not going to be in all of the chapters in this story. Sometimes, the only thing needed is his presence. That'll do it just fine.

I'm assuming that Cregan Stark was barely a child at this point in the timeline. So, having Aegon the Younger sent to be fostered at Winterfell would make sense. Cregan gets a friend and Aegon learns about honor and duty (which his family seems to lack at that point. But then again, what can you say? We're talking about the game of thrones here).

I'll see you all next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

The Ghost of the North

Chapter 4: Bloodraven

"Talking"

"_Thinking"_

(Location: Brynden River's tent)

He was alone in his tent, staring down at the map on the table before him. Tomorrow would be an ugly day. The loyalist army had a stroke of luck when a common archer had noticed Ser Quentyn Ball, known better as Fireball, had stopped for a drink of water and promptly put an arrow through him. That meant the rebels have lost one of their key generals.

But it would still be an ugly day. He looked over the positions of the loyalists and the supposed positions of the rebels. He knew that tomorrow would bring the greatest battle, if not the last battle, of the Blackfyre Rebellion. But they still not know where his half-brother was. _"Where are you, Daemon?"_ He silently asked himself, staring at the map. _"Are you hiding with Aegor somewhere out there?"_

His half-brother, Daemon Blackfyre, was the cause of this rebellion, and for what? Because he couldn't marry Daenerys, his one true love? The fact that their father favored him all over his trueborn son, yet Daeron had been the one to ascend the Iron Throne? As his wandering mind came across that last thought, he stifled a growl. _"I may be a Great Bastard, but you were the greatest bastard of them all, Father."_ He thought to himself.

His father, King Aegon IV, was probably the worst king to ever sit the Iron Throne. The man had as many nine mistresses and he showed them off at court without regard for his wife. He had been a foul, corrupt man who, at the end of his life, couldn't even walk because of how fat he was. There were days when Brynden wondered if his legitimizing all of his bastards on his deathbed was some sort of attempt to make up for his corrupt life. If that was true, then he failed in quite an impressive way.

This rebellion was the end result of that attempt. Feeling a headache coming on, he sat down in a chair, covered his eyes with a hand, and began to rub his temples. Sometimes, he would gladly be a bastard again, if only to stop this war. This war, already being called the Blackfyre Rebellion, had already torn Westeros in half. So far, the only kingdom to have not joined the war was the North.

"Lord Bloodraven!" A soldier called out as he ran into the tent.

He removed his hand from his face and looked at the soldier. "What is it?" He asked.

"There's someone here to see you." The solider told him. His voice was slightly nervous and fearful, like that person who was there made him afraid.

"Who is it?" He asked.

"He didn't say, my lord. He just told me to take him to you."

"You mean to say that he is waiting outside behind you?" He asked the soldier with a raised eyebrow.

Before the soldier could say anything else, someone spoke behind him. "Just let me through and go back to your post." A cloaked and hooded person brushed past the soldier and walked into the tent.

"You heard him, man." Brynden told the soldier. "Go back to your post." The soldier nodded once and saluted before leaving. But he didn't pay attention to the soldier leaving. Instead, he was focused on the cloaked person who was now staring at the map on the table. "My lord," He said to the Ghost of the North, bowing his head to him.

"Don't bow or call me a lord, Brynden. I'm not one." The Ghost replied, not once turning back to look at him. But he still stayed respectful. He had met the Ghost once, when he had been a child. They had met in the godswood, when he had been hiding from Aegor (who always had a special hatred for him). It was after that meeting he had started calling himself Bloodraven.

But he said nothing as he approached the map. The two of them stared at the large piece of parchment, detailed to the last boulder of the surrounding area. "Do you know where Daemon is?" He finally dared to ask.

Almost immediately, he could tell that the Ghost wasn't pleased. "Am I one of your scouts?" The cloaked person asked him, with an edge to his voice.

"No, you are not. I just thought that you knew where he was." He looked over the map. "If we found him, we could end this war."

The Ghost snorted at those words. "He is not the fault of this war of yours. He's just the end result."

"How could he not be the fault?" Brynden protested. "He rose up in rebellion against his rightful king!"

"Again, the end result." The cloaked person repeated. "There are only four people to blame for this." He raised four fingers. "Aemon the Dragonknight, Baelor the Blessed, your father, Aegon IV, and the current king, Daeron the Good," He declared, lowering a finger with each name spoken.

While Brynden could see how his father might be responsible, he could not see the other three being responsible. "How could the Dragonknight be responsible for this?" He demanded. Admittedly, he didn't remember much about his uncle. But what memories he did have were about a kind man who kept his silence about what his brother did.

"Ask yourself this: what would've happened had the Dragonknight not joined the Kingsguard and actively tried to marry Naerys?"

He kept his mouth closed and thought about it. It wasn't hard to see it, as it had been someone Daeron and he had wondered at times. "She wouldn't have married my father." He finally answered. "The suspicions casted on Daeron wouldn't have been there."

"What would've happened if Baelor had done what was needed of him and fucked his sister?" The Ghost asked.

"Daemon would've been Baelor's son." He automatically answered, the answer being an obvious one. It had been one of the many things he had wished for ever since this war had started. It had been bad enough when it had torn the kingdoms in half, but what made it worse that the dragons that had been used were dead now. And while that wasn't the entire amount of dragons, it was still most of them.

"What would've happened if your father didn't recognize Daemon or had given him Blackfyre?"

"None of this would be happening." Brynden said. For only the gods know how many times, he cursed Aegon the Dragonbringer for changing the laws of succession for House Targaryen. His grandfather nor his father would've sat the Iron Throne if things hadn't changed. "Could the threat of a civil war really have scared him so much?" He asked aloud.

"Eh? What was that?" The Ghost asked, finally turning to look at him. "Are you talking about your father? He didn't give a shit about a war, much less a civil one."

"I'm not talking about Aegon IV. I'm talking about Aegon III." He answered.

"Ah, yes, him. I think he turned out rather well." The cloaked person said off-handily.

"What about the changes in the laws of succession he made?" If those laws hadn't been changed, what would be different?

"You would have to have lived in that time, Brynden." The Ghost told him. "If what happened hadn't happened, your family would not have dragons now."

"We lost at least half of the dragons and their riders to Daemon and the rebels. Every battle that has been fought has been scorched by dragonfire somewhere." Bloodraven retorted. "And how exactly is the king to blame for all this?"

"What would've happened if Daeron thought more of his family and less of state and married Daemon to Daenerys?"

That, admittedly, was one of the things he had not thought about. "He couldn't have done that." He protested. "Daenerys had to marry the Prince of Dorne."

"Oh? Did she?" The cloaked man asked him. "Baelor had three sisters. If he wished to not have sinful thoughts about them, why did he keep them locked away? He could have easily married one of them off to Dorne instead of Daeron."

"Dorne never would've been satisfied with that." Brynden retorted. "Marrying the king's sister is not the same as marrying the king himself."

"Your king was not the king at that moment. And it would've only been the first marriage."

He began to see what the Ghost was saying. "So Baelor's sister could've been the first and Daeron would've been the second, bringing Dorne into the fold just as well." It would've been the perfect course of events, with this whole damn rebellion never happening in the first place. But he had to keep himself in reality now more than ever. "It doesn't matter now." He said, turning back to the map. "I must focus on what is happening tomorrow."

"And what is happening tomorrow?" The cloaked person asked him, like he didn't know what was happening in the kingdoms.

But Brynden knew that was just a small game of his, to make people annoyed and angry at him, losing their tempers and showing their true feelings to him. "The battle that will determine the fate of this 'Blackfyre Rebellion'," He answered with distaste in his mouth with those last two words. "That's why we need to find where Daemon is. If we find him, we can deal a crippling blow to the rebels."

"Is it him you are looking for, or the sword he carries?" The Ghost asked. It was no secret that Daemon had taken Blackfyre when he fled King's Landing and had wielded it in each and every battle he had been in. People called him the King Who Bore the Sword for it.

"Both." He answered. Either killing Daemon or taking Blackfyre from him would account for a victory in the Targaryens' favor. Having both be done would be a tremendous victory. It would completely shatter the morale of the rebels.

The inside of the tent was silent for a couple of seconds before either of them spoke again. "If I told you the location of where Daemon would be at his most vulnerable tomorrow, would you pay the price necessary for it?" The Ghost of the North asked.

He cast a look at the Ghost, almost saying that he didn't know where Daemon. But then he caught himself, remembering that all the cloaked person had said in response was if he was a scout. But Brynden had read the history books and knew all about the Ghost's offers. In exchange for letting a person know something or do something beneficial for themselves, the Ghost of the North would always demand a price. Sometimes it was a small thing (in exchange for crowning Aegon the Conqueror in the sight of the old gods, the king was charged with taking and planting a seed from the weirwood tree of Winterfell in the godswood of King's Landing) and sometimes, it was a hard choice (in exchange of being told to take a wilding for a wife, the price Maegor the Cruel had to accept that his only child would be a woman). Accepting the Ghost's offer was a risk, he knew that. But he had to take that risk. "Yes, I would." He answered.

The Ghost smiled, showing that he was missing some of his teeth. "Are you that eager to end this rebellion that you would accept a price you do not know of?" He asked.

"If the rebels win, the kingdoms will fall." Brynden replied. "Everyone will see that the Iron Throne can be sit upon by anyone who has the strength to take it. I will not doom the Seven Kingdoms to that chaos, nor will I be called Bloodraven the Coward for refusing you. I will take my chances."

The smile just grew wider. "Very well, my price is that." He pointed to the sword at the Great Bastard's side. "Give me Dark Sister and I will tell you where your half-brother will be."

When he heard those words, the man called Bloodraven went still. Dark Sister had been given to him by King Daeron just before the rebellion began. It was the sword wielded by Queen Visenya Targaryen during the War of Conquest and now, he was told that it was the price he had to pay. He had thought that it would be him and him alone that would have to pay, not the entire Targaryen dynasty. They had already lost Blackfyre, but to lose Dark Sister? It would be crippling.

But he had said he would pay. With a heavy sigh, he unbuckled the belt that held the price from around his waist. Once he held Dark Sister in his hand, he held it out to the Ghost. "Take it." He told the cloaked person.

He did, the sword disappearing into his cloak quicker than the eye could see. "If you stand on this ridge during the battle, Daemon will show himself to you and he will not know it. That will be your chance to kill him." He gestured to the ridge in question on the map.

Brynden examined the ridge, seeing how it could be used as suggested. He could see how it could be done. The ridge was one of the edges of the battlefield that would occur tomorrow. If they gained control of it, Targaryen loyalists could make it a foothold. And if Daemon showed himself to him and his Raven's Teeth, his life would end. "This information was well worth the price I paid." He said, mostly to himself.

But the Ghost had heard him. "Your price?" repeated the cloaked person before laughing a rusty laugh. "Dark Sister is not the price you paid, Brynden. It is House Targaryen's."

"What?" He couldn't help but say.

"Your father's house has grown arrogant, Brynden. Of the four I have spoken of, only the Dragonknight has sought me out and begged for my forgiveness for not listening to what I had told him. Baelor called me a demon and a creature of evil when I told him to fuck his sister already, trying to invoke the power of the Seven to cast me out. Your father ignored my summons and when I finally went to him, he laughed at what I said and ordered me away. When I went to Daeron and told him what he must do to keep the realm at peace, he said that I was a soft-minded fool that he did not have time for and that I didn't know anything about state or politics. This rebellion is the result of their arrogance. They will be humbled and remember who let their ancestor be king." The Ghost told him, a harsh tone in his rusty voice.

He wanted to argue, to say something in the king's defense. But he knew that every word that the cloaked person said was the truth. "I understand." He conceded.

"But you still have a price to pay." The cloaked person told him, turning around and heading for the tent flap. "And to ensure you follow through, they will accompany you."

He turned to who it was the Ghost was talking about, only to see it wasn't who, it was what. The Ghost stood beyond the flap of the tent and inside the tent were two direwolves. One was slightly bigger than the other. It's black fur and green eyes seemed to convey a raging anger that was only barely held in check. The other direwolf had grey fur and golden eyes. By the way it positioned itself by the black direwolf, he guessed that she (for he could that it was a she and the black direwolf was a he) was his check.

Brynden turned his gaze away from the two direwolves to say something to the Ghost, who was leaving. "What will my price be?" He called out, worry echoing in his voice.

"You will find out when the unlikely come to find you." The Ghost said back, his voice fading away as the words were spoken.

* * *

The next day, he and the Raven's Teeth stood on that ridge. With the direwolves waiting nearby, they watched as the battle raged on below them (none of his men said a word about them, but he could tell they were nervous about the creatures). While most men would've tried to join the fight themselves, his ravens held their positions. "By all the gods, they're fighting something fierce." One of his men said as he watched what was happening. Daemon Blackfyre had indeed appeared before them, dueling one of the Kingsguard. If Brynden had to guess who it was, he would've said Gwayne Corbray who wielded the Valyrian steel sword of his house, Lady Forlorn.

"Who do you think will win?" Another man asked. It was a good question as it was rare for two wielders of Valyrian steel to fight one another in combat and they were seeing such a fight happen right before them. The sound of the swords clashing against one another rang out over the battlefield.

"Daemon will win." Their commander said for all the ravens to hear. "And that will be our moment to strike."

"Begging your pardon, my lord, but are you sure about that?" The first man asked him. He didn't answer and the man didn't follow through with his curiosity. He might be their leader, but he also made them nervous sometimes.

"The Kingsguard has fallen!" One of the other ravens cried out for them all to hear. Ser Corbray had indeed lost the battle to Daemon and if his floundering around on the ground was any indicator, he had blinded as well. Three people quickly made their way over to Daemon and from this distance, Brynden could tell that his eldest twin sons and the man popularly called Redtusk.

"Ravens, nock arrows," The man called Bloodraven called out, his voice a whisper in the wind. Yet they heard him and did as they were ordered.

"What in seven hells…?" The second man said in stunned confusion. Below them, it looked Daemon had ordered Redtusk to take Ser Corbray away, most likely to be treated by the maesters, having already sheathed Blackfyre.

"_Ever the chivalrous knight,"_ Brynden thought to himself as he watched men group around the banner Daemon's eldest son, Aegon, held. "Ravens, draw," He ordered, drawing back his bowstring along with the rest of the Raven's Teeth. "Loose." He commanded, releasing the bowstring and sending the arrow straight into Aegon's eye. The arrows of his ravens killed many of the men surrounding Daemon, yet his eyes were on his brother's son.

"Good shot, my lord." One of his ravens told him. But he didn't say anything in reply. He just watched in silence as Daemon rushed over to his fallen son.

And that was when he saw his chance. _"Sorry brother."_ He thought to himself as he nocked another arrow. _"You may fight like the Warrior, but today, I am the Stranger."_ He fired off seven arrows, one right after the other, and each one buried itself into the back of Daemon Blackfyre. He fell to the earth, making the entire battlefield go silent. Only then did Brynden notice that the two direwolves weren't there.

"My lord, it looks like the enemy is about to retreat!" One of his ravens said with a shout of triumph. However, below them, Aegon's brother, Aemon, reached down and grabbed hold of Blackfyre. The other rebels saw what he was doing and began to rally around him.

But it was not to be, for that was when they saw the two direwolves again, racing towards Daemon's son. The black one leap forward at Aemon, knocking him to the ground, and, to the horror of those who could see it, began to tear at his face and body. The boy's screams echoed throughout the battlefield as the direwolf devoured him. It was a chilling sound, but it was also an alerting sound. "My lord, I see Bittersteel's banner. He's coming this way!" One of his ravens called out to him.

But he paid no attention to it. He kept watch as the direwolf killed his nephew, finally silencing his screams. As he finished, the grey direwolf, who had keeping the rebels away, grasped Blackfyre in her jaws, sheath and all, and raced away with the black direwolf following her. Some soldiers tried to stop them, but they were too fast. Within seconds, they had disappeared. _"So that was his revenge."_ Brynden thought to himself. The Ghost of the North now had both of the ancestral swords of House Targaryen. When the king heard about this, he will not like it.

"Brynden!" bellowed someone from below the ridge. The albino Great Bastard turned to where the voice was coming from. He was not surprised to see it was Aegor. "Brynden! Craven! Kinslayer! I know you're there! Come out! Come out and face me, you bastard!"

"Should we kill him, Lord Bloodraven?" One of his ravens asked him. He could see that many of his men had already nocked arrows.

"No. I will deal with him." He strode down the ridge, leaving his Raven's Teeth behind and walking toward the man he hated the most in this life. The fight that was about to happen between the two bastard children of Aegon IV, one of Blackwood and one of Bracken, was a long time coming. And if he was being honest with himself, he was looking forward to it.

**End**

**Author's note:** Thank you for all the reviews you have sent me.

I am well aware of the fact that I said that the Ghost of the North was there to make sure excessive stupidity didn't happen. And yet, I let the Blackfyre Rebellion happen. Sometimes excessive stupidity goes through. This is one of the many reasons why I sometimes referred to Baelor, Aegon IV, and Daeron II as the "Three Idiot Kings".

But I did change some things. The location of Blackfyre and Dark Sister aren't unknown anymore, they are with the Ghost. And whether or not he gives them depends on how the king apologizes.

Personally, I don't blame Daemon Blackfyre for rebelling. He was just the end effect in a long line of cause and effect. To start, Baelor the Blessed, why didn't he marry one of his sisters off to Dorne? He had three of them and I'm certain there weren't just Dorne Princesses at that. He could've saved a lot of problems that way.

Yes, I brought dragons into the rebellion but didn't make much note of them. Let me start it from the top: when Aegon III (who was called Aegon the Younger in his youth to separate him from his uncle, Aegon the Elder, who would later become Aegon II) was sent to Winterfell to be fostered, he returned to King's Landing with dragons at his back (hence the title of Dragonbringer instead of Dragonbane).

When Daemon rebelled, the dragon riders who followed him took their dragons with them. So, in a sense, the Blackfyre Rebellion was the Dance of the Dragons that had been staved off before. But by the time the Battle of the Redgrass Field came around, dragon-power was virtually wasted. And that's why there was no mention of them.

I'll see you all next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

The Ghost of the North

Chapter 5: Dunk

"Talking"

"_Thinking"_

(Location: Red Keep)

He stood and waited with his hand on his sword while his king stood next to him. The notion of that still surprised him. It only felt like yesterday that he was just a hedge knight and he had a squire named Egg. Now he was a member of the Kingsguard and his squire was now King Aegon V. He hadn't been crowned yet, but he was the king.

"Your Grace, we've brought the prisoner." A gold cloak announced as he and another man of the City Watch came forward with a man that was infamous throughout the Seven Kingdoms between them.

"Thank you." Egg (it was hard for Dunk to think of him as an Aegon) told the two of them. "Leave us." The two gold cloaks looked uncomfortable with the thought of doing such a thing. "It will be alright." He assured them. "I do not expect any trouble. And I have Ser Duncan with me." The two simply bowed briefly and left, leaving them alone with the man. "Hello, Uncle Brynden." The king greeted the man.

"Hello, Egg." The man was known as Bloodraven still looked exactly the same as the first time Dunk had met him, despite being in the black cells. The man was an albino, it showed in his white hair, very pale skin, and red eye. He had lost one of his eyes in a duel against Bittersteel in the Battle of the Redgrass Field and never wore a patch over it. All-in-all, he cut an intimidating and mysterious figure. "And Ser Duncan as well, I see." When the man spoke, it was with a whisper.

"Lord Bloodraven," He replied politely.

The albino laughed quietly at those words. "I haven't been a lord since I was thrown into the black cells by Egg's father."

"Uncle, I'm not a child anymore." Egg told him. "Call me by my actual name, please."

The laughter died from his lips. "The last man I knew as Aegon was my father and he left a rotten taste to the name for me. Please, allow me to call you Egg."

There was a few seconds of silence between the three of them. Finally, it was the king who spoke. "Walk with me, Uncle." They all stepped out of the entrance to the hall behind them and into the garden. The king and the prisoner were in the front while Dunk stayed in the back and kept an eye out.

It was a beautiful day of summer, the kind songs were written about with daring knights and beautiful maids. If Dunk was a cynical person, he would've called those songs foolish. But he was not a cynical person and actually enjoyed some of those songs. But he didn't comment on the day or the garden. He kept silent and kept his watch. "Is there a reason we are walking down this path?" Bloodraven asked, looking at the path through the garden.

"I thought that you would enjoy it." Egg told him. "You have spent a long time in the black cells after all." There was lightness in his voice, but then he became serious. "Aemon refused to set aside his vows as maester to become king. The crown has been given to me."

"Congratulations, my king." He said in reply, bowing his head. "The fourth son of a fourth son taking the Iron Throne, that's something people would not have expected." Although Dunk didn't see it, he was sure that the albino was frowning. "But I suspect you will have troubles."

"That's comes with being a king. But what my family fears right now is that some of the lords will try to raise their banners in revolt to put Aemon on the throne, or try to use him against me." The Kingsguard amongst them knew that to be true, for he had been the one who stood guard while the royal family discussed what they should do. "So Aemon's decided to go to the Wall, to join the Night's Watch," The king continued.

"How very noble of him," Bloodraven remarked. "But did you bring me up from the black cells just to tell me that?"

"No, I didn't. Aemon isn't going to the Wall alone. The jail beneath the Red Keep is too full to house any more prisoners. So I will empty them and send them with my brother…which means you're going as well, Uncle."

The man the smallfolk had feared as a sorcerer stood still and looked at a nearby tree. "So this is my price." He said to the tree.

"Uncle?" asked the king, looking at him like he had lost his mind. "Are you talking to the tree?"

"No, Egg. I'm just remembering something someone told me during the First Blackfyre Rebellion." He said in reply. Dunk shared a look with his former square at those words. They both knew of the Blackfyre Rebellions. They had help stopped the second one before it had even started. But they both knew of Bloodraven's role in the First Blackfyre Rebellion. "You were quite unlikely to receive the crown. Perhaps they will call you that in the history books."

The king frowned at those words. "I hope not." Dunk watched silently as the frown turned serious. "Uncle, I know that learning you will be going to the Wall might be cause to tell you personally, but that's not the only you're out of your cell for."

"What else is there?" The albino asked him, still looking at the tree.

"I had you brought to me to ask where Blackfyre and Dark Sister are." None of them said a word for the longest time after that was said. But Dunk knew what those swords were. They were the ancestral swords of House Targaryen and both had been lost during the first rebellion. He also knew that it had been Egg's dream to find those swords and bring them back to his family.

"What makes you think I know where they are?" Bloodraven asked him, finally turning to face his new king.

"I've read the books and listened to the songs, Uncle. I know that the last person who had anything to do with Dark Sister was you and you were the one who killed Daemon Blackfyre."

A frown appeared on his face at those words. "Please, don't remind me of what I did. It still haunts me in my dreams. Time and time again, I see myself shooting seven arrows into Daemon, burying one into his son's eye and watching in silence as the other was killed." His gaze hardened. "But I would do it again and again, as well pay the price I paid, if it kept the Seven Kingdoms safe."

"Where are the swords?"

"They were the price House Targaryen had to pay for their arrogance. I gave up Dark Sister to the Ghost of the North and Blackfyre was taken by him." Bloodraven said for the king and Kingsguard to hear.

Dunk felt uneasy at those words and he didn't know why. All he knew about this Ghost was that he had a long history with the royal family, dating back to Aegon the Conqueror himself. But that also raised a question for him: how could the Ghost have lived this long? _"It must be some sort of sorcery."_ He finally decided, although he did not say it aloud.

"Can you send a raven to him?" Egg asked his uncle.

His response was to laugh. "Send a raven?" He repeated. "Egg, what made you think I know how to contact the Ghost? He came to me the night before the battle took place."

"There must be some way to get the swords." The king insisted.

Bloodraven stood silent for a moment. "There's one way that work." He said, his gaze looking out to the garden. "If you apologize for what the royal family has done, it might work."

"A-apologize?" repeated Egg. It was obvious from the way he said those words that he did not expect to hear that.

The albino nodded. "When I came back to King's Landing and told Daeron of what I had done, he did not yell, he did curse, he did not do anything. He just smiled at me and said that the swords weren't important and continued to rule. Aerys would rather have read his books then rule, leaving me to rule the kingdoms and I knew that the Ghost wouldn't accept an apology from anyone less than the king. Your father, Maekar, threw me into the black cells and didn't believe what I had told him. Now the Iron Throne passes to you, Egg. If you wish to regain the swords of your house, you must apologize for what we have done to the realm."

"I can do that." The king said, confidence seeping back into his voice.

"Can you? Your predecessors couldn't."

"Uncle, what dragons we had left from the First Blackfyre Rebellion were killed by the Great Spring Sickness. I was there when the last dragon died. Both of our ancestral swords have been lost to us. Our house is on the verge of descending into ruin. We must show the Seven Kingdoms that we are not and well not descend." A frown that Dunk knew meant his former squire was thinking. "But I do wonder if the Ghost will come back and destroy my descendants for what we've done."

"And what makes you say that?" Bloodraven asked him.

"I read about what happened in the last days of King Aenys, Uncle Brynden, and I've tracked the bloodlines. The knight that King Aenys had executed was the last living descendent of King Erreg the Kinslayer." That was not a name Dunk knew of, but it did not sound like it belonged to any Targaryen king.

"There is that, but what he did was unforgivable. What you're trying to do isn't."

Egg was silent as he stood there between Bloodraven and Dunk. The Kingsguard noticed that there was a different pair of gold cloaks nearby, waiting for their king's command. "Thank you for your advice, Uncle." He finally said.

"Allow me to give you more." The albino spoke quietly. "I know you, Egg. You are a kind person who, because of being the fourth son of a fourth son, married for love. And I can see that, even though you are now a king, you would let your own children do the same. Do not let that happen, Egg. You must be firm. You must put what the realm needs above what your children want."

Those words sounded foreboding to Dunk, but Egg stayed silent, seemingly taking in those words. "Is there anything else you wish for, Uncle?" He finally asked.

Then it was Bloodraven's turn to fall silent. "…May I talk to Shiera one last time?" He finally asked.

Dunk still kept his silence. But he knew of Shiera Seastar, having met her only two weeks past. She wasn't young anymore, but he could tell that she had been a beauty. Hints of her beauty still showed, like hints to what she had looked like before. When they had spoken, she had called him a rarity in life: an honest knight. She had spoken fondly of the Black Dragon and of Bloodraven, but less so about Bittersteel. She had spoken of many things and he listened.

"You may." The king told his uncle, signaling the two gold cloaks nearby. "Take him to Lady Seastar's rooms. Once he is done there, take him back to the black cells." He ordered the two once they came close. Both he and Dunk watched in silence as the gold cloaks escorted Bloodraven away from them. "Do you think what he's says could work, Duncan?" He asked his Kingsguard.

"It's your choice, my king." Dunk told him.

"Please, don't speak to me as if I'm the king. Speak to me as if I'm still your squire."

"…In truth, I do not know if what he says will work. It also seems a little far-fetched to me." He admitted honestly. "I know you, lad. I know of how you've dreamed of bringing your family swords back home. But I do not know if this will work."

"Neither do I." Egg told him. "But my family does have a lot to apologize for. That much is certain."

* * *

The next, the king was crowned. Dunk watched the High Septon place the crown of the Dragonbringer on Egg's head and followed him in the procession back to the Red Keep. But instead of going to the throne room to address his court, the king took them to the godswood. As the entire court stood before the Kingsguard, the Kingsguard stood before the king, who stood beside the heart tree, right next to the face. It was a quiet face, with a closed mouth. But it was the eyes that got a person's attention. No matter how many people were there and no matter where you stood, those eyes always seemed to be on you.

Dunk knew what the singers sung about this weirwood tree. They sang that when King Aenys beheaded the knight, the blood left on the tree formed the face. And when the king died, the face was carved into the tree. Whoever carved the face, no one knew, 'though the singers like to say that it was either the king's brother, son, or (more popularly) one of the children of the forest.

The court was silent when the king spoke. "My lords and ladies, I have called you all here, in the sight of the gods, to stand witness to my words." That got the attention of the court. "In the time of my grandfather and his two predecessors, much damage was done to the Seven Kingdoms. It was caused by my house, but we did not take responsibility for our actions. Now, I will take responsibility and do what needs to be done."

Even though that he couldn't see the king, Dunk knew that Egg had closed his eyes and breathed deeply before continuing. "For what they've done, I denounce Daeron II, Aegon IV, and Baelor I. I strip their names from any titles, places, lands, and ranks that which might bear them. Furthermore, I give Baelor the name of Crazed, Aegon the name of Unworthy, and Daeron the name of Fool."

"Your Majesty, you cannot call Baelor the Blessed that disgraceful name." One of the lords cried out in the godswood.

"I can and I will." Egg replied. "For Baelor was crazed and had he heeded advice given to him, the Blackfyre Rebellion may never have had happened. The same goes for my grandfather and his father. All three had ignored wisdom that would've stopped Daemon Blackfyre from ever revolting. They had grown arrogant and my house had grown arrogant from them. Now, I stand here in the sight of the old gods to beg forgiveness from the Ghost of the North for what my predecessors had done."

"You are the king, sire." A lady said from near the front. "You apologize to no one."

"That was what my predecessors had thought." He replied, his voice cracking like a whip against the lady. "And look what has become of Westeros because of that attitude. No, my lady, my house has much to apologize for and I will be the one who asks forgiveness from the Ghost of the North by damning those who turned him away." The confidence that radiated through the king's made Dunk believe that he was hearing an Aegon, not an Egg.

But before the king could say anything else, a single voice spoke out. "Aegon, son of Maekar," It was a high, sweet sounding voice that came from the branches of the heart tree. The king and his Kingsguard turned to look at where the voice had come. What they saw was a small creature, with skin that had the same color of brown one would find on a nut and was dappled with pale spots, like a deer perched on one of the lower branches. It had large ears as well as green and gold liquid eyes that looked like they belonged to a cat.

Dunk had taken a step forward with his hand on his sword, ready to defend Egg, when the creature turned to look at him. "Do not fear, Duncan, he who is blood of the giant. I have not come here to harm your king." She told him (there was something in the voice that told him that she was female).

"Who are you?" He asked her, having not drawn his sword but still kept his hand on it.

"The First Men called my kind the children of the forest." She answered, causing everyone there to look at her with stunned expressions on their faces. While they all just stared at her, she looked at the king. "The Ghost has found your plea for forgiveness acceptable, Aegon Targaryen. He has asked me to give these to you and your house." She reached out to a different branch, her three fingers and thumb disappearing from sight. And when they reappeared, two swords were being in its grasp.

The entire court gasped when they saw those swords and Dunk knew why. Those two swords were Blackfyre and Dark Sister, House Targaryen's ancestral swords. It seemed like Egg's dream had come true. "Thank you." The king said to the child as he reached for the swords.

"The Ghost also asked me to pass words onto you, Aegon, son of Maekar." She told him as he was just about to take the swords, making him stop. "His words are 'Heed your uncle's advice'."

Egg could only nod silently before taking the swords from her. Everyone's gaze fell on the king and the swords he cradled in his arms. It was only a moment, but when it was done, he looked back up at the heart tree. The child of the forest was gone.

**End**

**Author's note:** Thank you for all the review you have sent me.

I will admit that I have never read the Dunk and Egg stories. How the two have acted is from what I could get from the wiki and pictures.

One of you has said that because Bloodraven gave up Dark Sister, he would lose the battle against Bittersteel. Now I know that a Valyrian steel weapon is not something to sneeze at, but please remember that never once I did say that Bittersteel had one either. So the duel went as normal and Bloodraven lost an eye.

Well, the dragons lasted a little longer than usual, but what happened to them was bound to occur. And it made sense to make the Great Spring Sickness be the cause of it. It took out men and women, why couldn't it take out dragons?

Personally, I like to think that Shiera cooled down some when she got older. Doing all that she did, the lovers, the duels, and everything else, that's a young woman's game. And by the time Egg was crowned, if she was still alive, she was by no means young, excluding the whole bathing in blood part.

The original idea for the ending was for the swords to suddenly appear against the heart tree with a note from the Ghost. But after thinking about it, I found it to be a little cliché. So, I went with a child of the forest instead. And before you ask, yes, it was Leaf. She had been around for two hundred years when she spoke to Bran. She was alive when Aegon V became king.

I'll see you all next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

The Ghost of the North

Chapter 6: Tywin

"Talking"

"_Thinking"_

(Location: Casterly Rock)

He sat at his desk, reading documents about how much gold was mined from the Westerlands that year. This was one of the things that he had to do, even when he was serving the king. He was the head of House Lannister as well as the Hand of the King. Most of his time was spent in King's Landing and whenever he was back at the Rock, most of his time was spent going over things such as this.

But the time that was not, was spent with his wife, Joanna. And to him, that was enough to make it all worth it. He had also asked the king for tome to spend at home with her, as she was close to giving birth to their third child and he would be there for her. He would be there so he could see the new child of House Lannister come into this world.

It also gave him the chance to see his son and daughter. Jaime was already proving himself to be skilled with arms. It would soon be time to send him out to foster. And Cersei was already proving to be a little lady, charming, graceful, and beautiful. She took well after her mother in that aspect. He had plans for Cersei, plans that, if they succeeded, would secure his legacy.

"My lord," A voice called out from beyond the door before it opened to reveal the maester, a big, brown-headed man with a beard.

"What is it?" He asked, looking at the man (he had never bothered to learn the man's name).

"Your lady wife has requested to see you in the Stone Garden." The maester told him. "She's said that it was about your legacy."

He placed the document in his hand down and stood up from his desk. Without saying a word to the maester, he left his solar and went down the halls of Casterly Rock. As he walked, he felt a sense of pride go through him. Before he taken over from his father, House Lannister had been a joke in the Westerlands and the rest of Westeros. But he had taken steps to rectify that and it had worked. Now his house was feared and respected.

The people who he passed in the halls show that when they saw him come. They stepped out of his way and bowed their heads to him as he passed. Their eyes watched him as he left their view. And they all knew that if they managed to severely displease him, he would not forget it. He was Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock and he always repaid his debts.

When he stepped into the Stone Garden and saw his wife waiting for him, he allowed a small smile to grace his face. His wife was truly a beautiful woman. The fact that she was pregnant did nothing to stop her beauty. If anything, it only made it more apparent. "Joanna." He called out to her.

She turned to him, surprise showing on her face when she saw him. "Tywin," She said in reply. "What is it you wanted?"

"Wanted?" He repeated as he approached her, the smile fading from his lips. "The maester had said that you sent for me."

She shook her head. "No, he said that _you_ had sent for _me_."

"Actually, I had him send the both of you to me." A voice to Tywin's left spoke out. When he turned to see who it was, all he saw was a cloaked and hooded man standing before the back of the weirwood tree. The only thing that was worth mentioning about the man was that he was incredibly filthy. "He is a good man of the North."

"Who are you?" Tywin demanded of the man. But to his surprise, his wife bowed her head to him.

"My lord," She said with a tone of utmost respect.

The man just snorted in disregard. "At least you didn't try to curtsey, that wouldn't have been good for the babe." He told her. "And I am not a lord, so don't call me one." He turned his gaze over to the Lord of Casterly Rock. "Have you figured out what they call me, oh great Lion of Lannister? Or should I give you a few more minutes?"

Tywin might've taken that as an insult, if he was not thinking. He knew that Joanna was a cousin of his and he knew that her mother had been of House Prester. Then he remembered that her grandmother had been of House Westerling, whose blood could be traced back to the First Men. "You are the Ghost of the North." He finally said. He had heard stories about the Ghost, but had always treated them as just that, stories. "Or at least, you claim to be."

"I do not claim to be anything." The supposed Ghost told him.

"Then you have wasted mine and my lady wife's time." He turned to walk away from the man and he knew that Joanna was by his side.

"If the two of you wish to die, keep walking." The man told the two of them, making them stop.

He turned back with cold rage in his eyes. "You would dare to try to kill us inside our own home?" He demanded. "You are very arrogant to think that."

"I won't be the one to kill you if you keep walking." The man who thought he was the Ghost said in reply. "And your deaths won't come from any hand I might command."

"Then who will kill the lion and the lioness?" Joanna asked. Tywin felt proud of her at that moment. She might have the blood of the First Men in her veins, but she was a Lannister first.

"Their cub," He answered. "To be more exact, that cub." And he pointed at Joanna's swollen belly.

If Tywin had been the sort of man who let his emotions ruled how he acted and spoke, he might have gone into a rage, shouting and yelling. "You lie." He simply said instead.

"If I do, then it won't hurt to listen to what will happen to you if you walk away." Once he was sure that he had their attention, he spoke again. "If you leave now, your lovely wife will give birth to a dwarf. And that dwarf will kill her in that birth. Because of his birth, you will hate him for her death, Tywin of House Lannister, a hatred you will share with your daughter. You will curse him when he seeks your approval and shame him when he does something you do not approve of. And your end will come when you will allow him to take the fall for something he will be innocent of. Your soon-to-be born cub will kill you as you sit over a privy hole."

The Lord of Casterly Rock showed no emotion on his face as he listened. But he saw his wife show the smallest looks of horror as she listened. "You don't know that." She told the man standing before them.

"Oh, I see Daeron the Fool stands before me again, only in the shape of a woman now." He remarked before looking at Tywin. "But I don't think that your husband is either Baelor the Crazed or Aegon the Unworthy."

Tywin stiffened, insulted that the man standing before him would dare compare him and Joanna to the three worst kings of the Targaryen dynasty. "And you think you can prevent all that happen?" He challenged.

The supposed Ghost simply smiled. "Of course I do. But it will require a price from the both of you." He looked at them both before speaking. "I know what the two of you have been planning for your children. My price for you, Tywin, is this: you will never try to have your daughter marry Rhaegar Targaryen. Your price, Joanna, is that you will not allow your son to marry Elia Martell."

How the man knew of his plans for Cersei, he didn't know. But what concerned him more than that at that moment was the man had said. "What were you planning, Joanna?" He asked his wife.

When she didn't answer, the supposed Ghost did. "She and the Princess of Dorne had planning to marry your children to Elia and Oberyn, who travel by sea to come here."

He grew angry. "How could you?" He demanded of his wife. "You and that _snake_ had secretly planned this!?" It was common knowledge both at the Rock and in court that the Princess of Dorne and the Lord of Casterly Rock despised one another. But if there was one thing they had in common, it was that they both loved Joanna fiercely.

But now, she stared at him with the same amount of anger he had. "That 'snake' is my friend, Tywin." She replied. "And the both of us had thought them to be good matches."

Even though he was angry she had decided to go through with her little plan, the part of him that kept him in control could see the benefits. A marriage with a prince of Drone and princess of Dorne with the Lannisters could produce a very productive alliance. But he refused to let that snake have a victory over him. But before he could even say anything in response to her, the supposed Ghost spoke again. "The both of you will pay my price. So you might as well say yes."

"And what makes you think we will do that?" Tywin demanded. He will not give his plans for his legacy just because some imposter said he would. He was the lion of the Rock, respected and feared throughout the Westerlands, if not the whole of Westeros.

"Because a Lannister always pays his debts, and House Lannister owes me a great debt." The man said, his rusty voice becoming sharp and cold. "Your ancestor, Lann, was only able to swindle Casterly Rock from its former owners because I _allowed_ him to do it."

"You lie." He knew the songs and stories about Lann the Clever well. Not once did they mention that he had help from anyone.

The supposed Ghost smiled at those words. "House Casterly had known he was coming and closed their gates. So I showed him a tunnel that led into the Rock, which has been shown to his descendants ever since. You and your siblings have been shown that tunnel, haven't you Tywin? It's the one at the bottom of the Rock that leads out to a small dock with a ship waiting there."

The Lord of Casterly Rock went still when he heard those words. His father had indeed shown him, his brothers, and his sister that tunnel, telling them of its history and what it meant for them. Tywin had refused to show that same tunnel to Cersei and Jaime, saying that Lannisters were not cravens. But that tunnel was only to know to the main family of Lannisters. No one else knew. But someone did and he was standing in front of him. And the man was right. A Lannister did pay his debts. "So you would force us to make these payments?" He asked the man.

The supposed Ghost of the North kept his smile on his face. "You will. And do you know why?" They didn't answer him. "Because the two of you love each other much more than whatever you have planned for your children."

They didn't say anything at first. But he was right. They had married because they loved one another, not for political gain. And Tywin couldn't imagine life without Joanna. He was reluctant to let his plans be destroyed this way, but he would do it if it meant his wife would live. "Very well, Cersei will not marry Rhaegar Targaryen." He finally declared.

"And Jaime will not marry Elia." Joanna also declared, though she sounded more disappointed than she should let on. "I would like to see my cub with my own eyes."

"Good to hear." The man who claimed to be the Ghost said in reply. For the briefest of seconds, Tywin thought he saw the man's eyes. One was black and one was green. "But he will still be born a dwarf." He turned and walked out of their sight, going around the weirwood tree. But he didn't appear on the opposite side and when they went after him, he was nowhere to be seen.

But what they heard next would remain with Tywin for the rest of his life. It was a quiet voice that seemed to come from the face carved into the tree. It sang only two phrases of a song, but it was a song they both knew well, but the second phrase had been changed.

_And who are you, the proud lord said,  
that I must bow so low?  
Only a ghost who's walked this land,  
far longer than you could know._

**End**

**Author's note:** Thank you for all the reviews you've sent me.

What? You thought I was going to keep it to just the Targaryens?

I think the best way to describe this chapter would be that it's somewhere between an intervention and a cock-block.

It's an intervention because Tywin can't really hate Tyrion for killing Joanna (that was the driving factor). And it's a cock-block because if Tywin doesn't try to have Cersei marry Rhaegar, things won't become so difficult between him and Aerys (well, at least for the moment). Please keep in mind that this happened about four years or so before the tournament at Lannisport, if I'm reading the timeline right.

To me, Joanna Lannister would've been just as fierce as Tywin when it came to their family, just gentler and kinder. With any luck, I've portrayed her as such. I truly believe that she would not reject Tyrion because of what he looked like.

It'll be interesting to see what will happen to Tyrion now that he will have both parents in his life. He'll still be a dwarf but perhaps this time, he'll be able to stay married to Tysha. Maybe Tywin will see his brilliance and praise him for it.

And before you start saying that Tywin will try to make subtly make Cersei go after Rhaegar herself, therefore making it look natural, please remember what you've just read. The Ghost said that she wouldn't marry Rhaegar and Jaime wouldn't marry Elia. He didn't say anything about Cersei not marrying Oberyn.

I'll see you all next chapter!


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